Vitamin Coat

They bought it, they said, because they wanted to.

I know this was the truth. They couldn't help themselves. My mother, herself once a young girl attending the same boarding school where I now resided, had endured the bitterly cold winters there without the added warmth of a good pair of pantyhose: Her family just couldn't afford them. And of course she'd never enjoyed the luxury of what she and my father were now proposing to buy - a long, wool winter coat.

I eyed the circular racks of potential selections with suspicion. I knew what a purchase like this would cost them. Especially at the nicest store in the mall. And I also knew that simply sending my brother and I to this school had put them in a financial pinch as it was. And yet still - here we were. My mom's face was determined. My dad was her stoic supporter.

And so we searched, my family and I - my brother trying not to yawn too obviously at the tedium (for him) that ensued. I tried on. I turned. I held out my arms and buttoned myself in. And with each coat, the conviction became more sure. I would walk out of this store the proud owner of a ridiculously expensive insurance policy against catching a chill while at school. They'd already bought me a ski jacket for the winter, and I'd been careful to select one in a neutral color that would function well as a dress jacket, too. But here we were - selecting a long one in a classy navy hue, trying on soft cashmere scarves to go with it, boxing up the whole throat-tightening expense, and walking from the store as though we made purchases like this every day.

My friends, I knew, would probably think nothing of this sort of thing. They'd been sporting coats like this since the beginning of my stint here at school. But for me - having only recently seen my own mother accept a similar gift from her parents (she certainly couldn't affort to buy herself such a treat) - for me, the gift was unspeakable.

I wore the coat, that winter. I wore it often. In my subconscious, I prayed for snow even, to justify the purchase my folks had made. Willing it to be cold, I wrapped myself up in that coat the way I folded myself into their love whenever I came home on long weekends. And as the winters wore on, and I drove off to college with my brother ... and as I moved across country, and got maried, and had children, and settled in a climate where nobody needs a long coat like that ... their love, and their gift, stayed right with me.

Sometimes I'd see that navy coat hanging in my closet, and I'd wonder: Should I sell it in my next garage sale? After all, I wouldn't be needing it ever again. And besides, it had grown to look rather dated.

But each time I reached to remove it from its hanger, I just couldn't make myself do it. The coat had grown to become a symbol for far more than just extra warmth in the winter. It reminded me, uncannily, of all that my parents gave up to offer me the education, the opportunities, the joy and the freedom that were mine through the years. I could no more sell it in a garage sale than I could hawk the beauty of my childhood.

And so, to this day, the long coat remains. I'm moving back, now. Back to the cold college town where the coat got its most use. Will I wear it again there? Even though it's ten-plus years past its prime? Probably. And if I do, I'll wear it with pride. Because gifts of love, just like this one, always bring joy to my life.